This is a time of deep introspection and intense reorganization for me. When things get tough, I tend to look inward to see what I can do differently or better - and mainly, for strength. While I am surrounded by family and friends who are wonderful and supportive, the truth is that I find my strength inside myself. I’m one of those people with a strong sense of self; the older I get, the more I trust myself and generally believe I know what the heck I’m doing.
I think this has a lot to do with my faith. I grew up in a very religious household and attended Catholic high school. And while I practiced all the rituals and learned the history and traditions, what really stuck with me more than anything was the notion that we are not alone, and that we can find strength in God (or Allah or The One or Jesus or The Creator or Bob, or whatever you call him/her), who resides within each of us.
This teaching struck me deeply and has led me through many books and many philosophies/religions. I guess you can say I’m not really into religion so much as I am into the notion of faith and what it means to believe in something greater than yourself, yet that very thing is within us all.
But this isn’t meant to be a religious/spiritual rant. What I really wanted to get to was the fact that in times of pain and trouble, I seek solace in literature that addresses what it means to be human, to feel pain, to have faith, and to grow from that pain into deeper faith.
The struggle I go through now is as much for myself as it is for my son. In the midst of surviving the day-to-day, I worry about him and how he will "come out" now that he is one of the statistical children of a broken home. I get caught up in all the care I must provide, the things I must and must not say or do, the lessons I want to teach - that I forget the deeper meaning of it all. I forget what I believe is my purpose as a mother.
I have long been a fan (for lack of a better term) of Khalil Gibran. It’s only been in the last few years that I’ve begun to read more of his work, but his seminal piece, The Prophet, is a guide (as I consider it) I have long cherished. So when I feel like I’ve been feeling lately, I turn to that book and look at the words he wrote about children. And it’s that piece I share with you now:
Children
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of Children."
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
by Tere
3 responses so far ↓
Stu Mark // Jul 9, 2008 at 5:38 am
My sister taught me this before I had kids, before I even got married. It really stuck. I recommend it to folks when they are at odds with their kids (or if I see them trying to control their kids too stridently). Gibran was a gift to our planet.
Tere // Jul 9, 2008 at 6:55 am
I agree, Stu. And The Prophet in particular is basically a good guide to live by.
Jason Mraz did a song based on the Marriage and Children sections, and it’s one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard. It’s called “God Moves Through You” - check it out if you can!
Holly // Jul 10, 2008 at 11:56 am
Thanks for that bit of inspiration.
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